


Stay My Tragedy

by GavotteAndGigue



Series: Twisted Fate [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soulmates, explict sex, mentions of Birdflash, minor appearance of Dick Grayson, minor appearances from the batfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-23 07:50:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20888669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GavotteAndGigue/pseuds/GavotteAndGigue
Summary: Soulmarks can appear at any time in one’s life—a mark of  destiny that most people interpret as a representation of the person they’re meant to fall in love with. Jason knows that’s not true. He knows because his soulmark appeared in the very last moments before he died—sealing his fate to be murdered at the hands of a madman.It is a world in which Fate is unbelievably cruel when Jason’s soulmark is of none other than the man who murdered him. However, Slade has other ideas, and he might just be the one man who can change Jason's tragic fate into something else.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [Stay My Tragedy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21898840) by [SilverCat_414](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverCat_414/pseuds/SilverCat_414)
  * Inspired by [Art with a (DCU)Bang](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904347) by [fleet_of_red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleet_of_red/pseuds/fleet_of_red). 

> Written for the 2019 DCU Bang, and this story has freaking amazing art by [fleet_of_red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleet_of_red/pseuds/fleet_of_red), link in Chapter 3!
> 
> WARNINGS: explicit sex, angst, descriptions of violence, references to self-harm, slight dubcon, problematic relationship
> 
> Many thanks to [@coconutcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutcat/pseuds/coconutcat) for the beta!

Jason wasn't sure what kind of karmic debt he incurred to deserve his lot in life, but he remembered clearly when it first happened. Even death and resurrection couldn't erase the memory of when the soul mark seared itself onto his forearm.

There were things he wished he could recall with more clarity—things like his mother's face or what must have been the better times living with Bruce and Alfred in the manor, but as with most things in his life, it was the exact opposite of what he wanted. The thing he most wished to forget was what he remembered all too clearly—his death in the most horrifically vivid detail….

Trapped, alone, and praying for Batman to find him in the dusty warehouse in Qurac. He had managed to get an arm free of his bindings, raising it to try and block the first blow as the Joker swung down the crowbar. It happened quickly. It couldn't have been more than a fraction of a second because it appeared in the space between the start of the crowbar's descent and its impact, but the shock of it made it feel like an eternity. There was a hot pain even before the crowbar connected, and in the gap of exposed skin between his gauntlet and the crook of his elbow, there suddenly appeared the ghastly soulmark -- a white blob of a face topped with wild green hair, all other features abstracted except for the cruel upward curve of the red open-mouthed smile. Jason almost recoiled at the sight of it, if the crowbar hadn't then come down and shattered his ulna.

Jason had screamed. The Joker had laughed. Upon noticing Jason’s soulmark, the Joker had laughed even harder. There was no indication that the Joker had any reciprocal marking. He certainly didn’t feel any reciprocal emotion, and it was then that Jason knew—the soulmark didn't indicate any sort of pre-destined love or true romance. It showed a great karmic entanglement for sure, but Jason felt nothing but agony when he brushed his fingers against the mark. It was then that he understood true cruelty. Fate had borne him into a shitty situation in life, given him parents that abandoned him and died, replaced them with hope in the form of a father in Bruce, then a mentor in Batman, only to rip everything away with the hands of a madman. Jason knew how this would end. Fate had decreed that his destiny was none other than to die at the hands of the Joker.

Fate had it's laugh as the explosion blasted away what was left of Jason's tattered faith. The Joker fulfilled his lust for fun as Jason bled out the final vestiges of his life into the sand. Even as the rubble piled atop him, and as the falling concrete crushed his chest and skull, there was no greater pain than the burn of the new soulmark branded upon his arm.

He was dead. He should have stayed dead, but he didn't.

When Jason came back, his death was what replayed again and again in his nightmares. It was the memory that cycled constantly through his mind before Talia put him in the pit, and it was the visceral impression he got every time he brushed his fingers against the image of the twisted smile stamped upon his skin.

_Don't forget_, Fate seemed to say. _Don't you ever forget._

After he regained his mental faculties, Jason had tried to change things. The Lazarus pit had restored the cursed soulmark along with everything else, and one of the first things Jason had tried to do was carve that stupid face off his arm. He had tried to burn it. He had tried to cut and marr it, but soulmarks ran more than skin deep. The stupid thing kept returning. No amount of scar tissue could hide the stark white face and blood-red grin, growing more and more grotesque with each attempt to remove it. Eventually, Jason stopped trying to physically get rid of it. He tried other, more drastic measures.

He had Talia send her assassins after the Joker, trying to avert his own fate by ensuring the monster was killed first. They failed. He plotted and schemed from afar, sending more hired killers, careful not to put himself in the Joker's direct path, but all those attempts failed as well. Finally, in his desperation, still mad with Pit-rage and still angry at being unavenged, he machinated to have Bruce kill the Joker for him. Fate wouldn't allow him to pull the trigger himself, some strange psychosomatic paralysis would set in, even when the madman was in his grasp. Jason needed someone to do it for him. He almost succeeded. If only Bruce had pulled the trigger… he didn't.

Jason learned to accept his fate after that. He was done wasting what was left of his life turning into a madman by obsessing over one. He resolved to go down fighting if the Joker came at him again, but it was time he moved on.

*******************

Jason laid the patch of artificial skin over the pasty white face etched into his right arm, careful not to touch the spot with his fingers lest any unwanted impressions occur. He had passed out once, in the early days of his resurrection, from lingering his fingers too long over that pasty white face. Most people loved touching their soulmarks, especially if they were one of the lucky ones to have been paired with a true soul mate, but most people didn't experience soul-crushing agony like Jason did.

Sometimes Jason wondered what it would have felt like if he wasn't so cursed. Was it a general warmth? Did paired soulmates feel each other's emotions? Only those with karmic entanglement could get impressions from another's soulmark, and for most people it was extremely personal and private. Over the years Jason had heard different people share small pieces of what it felt like to have a soulmate…, but that was neither here nor there, Jason supposed. He would never know for himself.

He used the edge of a pen to press the rest of the skin patch in place. Even through a physical barrier sometimes soulmarks could react, so it was generally safer to use an instrument. Jason had done this regularly for a while now, after he'd gotten over ever trying to avoid his destiny. The patch usually lasted a few days, giving him a reprieve from having to look at the stupid face in his day-to-day life, at least until he had to replace the patch. It was part of his routine nowadays. In some ways, he had grown numb to the mark, as well as to his fate.

That was probably a good thing. It had let him have the space to get himself together in the head—shedding most of the Pit-rage, and eventually even allowing himself to reconcile (mostly) with his family. He had built a new life as the Red Hood, posing as a villain and crime lord, surreptitiously flushing out crime from within the Gotham underground.

Life was peachy. At least that's what Jason would say if anyone ever asked. No one did, except perhaps Dick or Alfred, in which case they would most assuredly receive the default answer.

Jason finished securing the skin patch with a coat of liquid stitches and made ready to go out. He was scouting new logistics paths for the night as part of his effort to systematically take down the Penguin's operations. With each illegal cache he confiscated, the Penguin would redirect his routes, and Jason would plan his next bust. He was slowly cornering him into just a few routes, and at that point Jason would be able to take them down all at once. He was halfway through his scout path, hopping over the old ironworks of Gotham's industrial corner when the comm chirped in his helmet.

"Red Hood, what's your twenty?" It was Dick, calling out the shortened ten-code for Jason's location. That in itself was a little odd. All the Bats knew Jason wasn't the most forthcoming with his whereabouts, especially when calling out of the blue like this.

Jason chose to ignore it, closing off the line and continuing on toward the rail yards.

"Red Hood, come in." The comm buzzed again, this time on the emergency line, which was unfortunate because that meant every Bat was listening in. "If I don't hear you check in within the next five seconds, O is going to hack your location." Dick's voice was gravely serious. He wasn't playing around, and Jason had little choice but to respond lest an army of batkids, or worse, Batman himself, descended on his location.

Jason sighed and flipped on his comm, "Would you chill? My private line is back on." Jason switched the channel back to a direct line to Dick, "What's got your panties in such a twist that you'd have everyone barging in on my turf?"

"Where are you?" Dick wasn't his usual quippy self, which meant he was either in _disapproval mode_ or there was something dire going on that warranted a heightened level of concern. "I'm coming back from a mission with the Titans. We happened to get intel that the Penguin's put a hit out on you."

Was that all? Having a hit put out on him was no surprise. It was almost a regular occurrence, but Jason also knew something that most people didn't—that he was going to die by the hand of only one man, so unless there was some inkling that it was the Joker, it was unlikely that some would-be assassin had any chance of succeeding. Dick didn't know that, and Jason wasn't going to tell him either. Besides, the Joker was currently in Arkham. No telling how long he'd stay there, but Jason kept tabs on him for the very good reason of wanting some warning the next time he was going to die.

As it was though, he couldn't fault Dick for not knowing what he didn't know. '_A' for effort_ and all that for the Golden Boy.

"Tell me something I don't know, Dickieboy," Jason snarked back into the comm. "Someone's _always_ trying to kill me. Probably you too for that matter. Anyone who wears a Bat is on some hit list somewhere."

"This is different," the urgency in Dick's voice hadn't subsided. "The Penguin shelled out big time. I got confirmation that Deathstroke is coming for you."

Damn. Even if Deathstroke was unlikely to defy Fate and actually kill him, the prospect of being seriously maimed by the world's deadliest assassin gave Jason pause.

"Slade's no laughing matter," Dick echoed his thoughts. "Once he takes a contract, he keeps it. It's a matter of honor for him."

It didn't slip past him that Dick had used Deathstroke's first name with familiarity. They had some strange history, and if Jason didn't know for a fact that Dick proudly shared a reciprocal soulmark with one Wally West, he would have wondered if there wasn't some ongoing affair happening. Perhaps it was one-sided, perhaps said history had occurred before soulmarks appeared, but Jason didn't ask. It wasn't any of his business.

What Jason did know was that he would be a fool not to take the threat seriously. He had a run-in with Deathstroke once before—the Red Hood had been hired to distract him from completing a mission. It had amounted to nothing more than a quick tussle in which Deathstroke clearly wasn't in full form. Jason took a few potshots at him just long enough to disperse his attention, and they had subsequently found truce when Jason provided cover in a later firefight. He hadn't seen Deathstroke since, nor had he wanted to. Inviting the world's deadliest into your life was equivalent to a deathwish, and could only be surpassed by having the soulmark of a man who succeeded in murdering you. Jason already had that in spades.

Jason turned around to double back toward one of his safehouses. The logistics planning would have to wait. Nothing would drive Jason into hiding, not even if it was the Joker coming for him, but he wasn't an idiot. He needed to make sure he was appropriately geared up to fend off someone who wanted to kill him. He needed to be ready for what most would presume to be a fight to the death, and Jason hadn't adequately prepared for that kind of action tonight. His pistols were loaded with rubber bullets in deference to being in Batman's town, and he only had a few backup cartridges with live ammo. That would exhaust rather quickly in a fight with Deathstroke.

"I'm heading back to re-supply," Jason finally relayed back to Dick.

"Good. Where should I meet you?"

"Nowhere," Jason snapped as he shot a grapple line toward a tall office building. "I can handle this myself. I don't need backup."

No sooner had he uttered the words however, than did a shadow suddenly catch his eye. It was minuscule, not more than a small drop of darkness into the expansive pool of night, but Jason, thanks to Dick's warning, was extra vigilant for small movements as he landed on the rooftop. There was but a flicker of orange and black from above that soon advanced into a dive, and Jason barely rolled out of the way before a sword was pinging against the asphalt where he had just stood.

"Not bad, Hood," there was a tinge of amusement coming from behind Deathstroke's bisected mask. "Nothing personal either, but business is business."

"Yeah, well business is booming." Jason hit the remote detonator to the small charge he had left under Deathstroke's feet right before he had rolled away. The explosion was relatively small, designed to have just enough force to rip holes through floors, but it sent Deathstroke tumbling toward the far ledge. It wouldn't be enough to keep the assassin at bay for long, but Jason used the opportunity to put some distance between them. He launched himself off the ledge on the opposite end of the building, shooting another line to swing behind an adjacent tower.

Jason switched out his clips to live rounds as he landed. He barely had enough time to spin and fire off a bevy of rounds as Deathstroke landed immediately behind him.

"Jason?" Dick's voice crackled in his ear. There was a curse as the other realized what was going on, and then on the emergency comms, "All hands to these coordinates, now!"

_Great. Just great_, Jason thought, as he dodged another swipe of Deathstroke's blade. He was at an extreme disadvantage here. Forget the rubber bullets, the 9mm rounds he carried wouldn't make a dent in the assassin's Ikon suit, and he was quickly running out of ammo. Jason hadn't brought a melee weapon, and Deathstroke was faster, stronger, and though he hated to admit it, a far better and more prepared fighter than Jason at this very moment.

Still, he had to try. Even if Fate deigned he'd survive this in favor of getting his bucket kicked by a pasty white madman, Jason didn't put it past the universe to fuck him over in plenty of other ways.

Deathstroke brought his blade up in an arc and Jason feinted, angling downward and getting in a good roundhouse kick to Deathstroke's head. It hardly phased him, and Jason was immediately forced on the defensive again. He ducked in time to avoid getting his head taken clean off, only to suffer a punch to the gut.

He wheezed through the pain, used the momentum to try and counter with a grab and throw. He reached forward, wrapping his hand around the assassin's right forearm, only for a jolt of _something_ to suddenly spear through his entire frame. Jason was blown back with the shock, and surprisingly, Deathstroke was thrown back too, his sword momentarily dropping from his hand.

"What the–?" The shock of whatever just happened had the assassin staggering. "What the hell was _that?"_

Jason had no answer. He was too overcome with… he wasn't sure how to describe it. It had felt like an intense _heat_ and some sort of foreign ache in his heart. His hands trembled, his breath hitched. It was too much to process in the few seconds since it happened, and Jason couldn't make sense of it. In his confusion, he missed Deathstroke advancing forward with a pounce.

The assassin tackled Jason to the ground, reaching for his neck to release the catch of his helmet. He tore it off before Jason could react. A sharp jab to his temple had him further dazed, and the other man was suddenly pushing and prodding at him. He flipped him onto his stomach, ripped the jacket from his shoulders, and removed his gloves. Jason struggled, but he was flipped over again, and Deathstroke was suddenly pushing up the sleeve of Jason's shirt. He scraped something against Jason's inner forearm, and it was only when Deathstroke muttered a half startled, "Holy shit, kid!" that Jason realized he had been looking for a soul mark.

Jason recoiled, instinctively drawing his arm away, but Deathstroke held on. He yanked Jason forward, forcing his bare hand against the same spot Jason had grabbed on Deathstroke's forearm before. There was another jolt, more indescribable heat as Jason gasped and tried to jerk his hand away. It overpowered his senses, his entire body arching at the intensity of it, and Jason let out an involuntary whimper as he was finally released. He curled into himself, feeling powerless and vulnerable. He felt cold, his body shaking so hard his teeth chattered. If Deathstroke chose to skewer him right then and there, he could have done nothing to stop it.

His head felt foggy as he closed his eyes, unable to fully process what everything meant. His mind finally caught up even as his consciousness began to fade. That jolt when he had touched the other man could only mean one thing—another karmic entanglement with none other than Deathstroke the Terminator, the man named Slade Wilson.

*******************

"Ugh." Jason hated the feeling of waking up groggy and full of aches.

"Jay?" A voice off to his side, trying too purposefully to be gentle. Jason found it extremely irksome. "Hey," the voice continued, "can you open your eyes?"

Jason did, cracking an eyelid to find the voice belonged to Dick, because _of course it did._

"Shut up," he said as he pushed himself up. Dick's response was to smile warmly, his amusement at Jason's surliness adding even more to Jason's rising ire.

Fortunately, Dick didn't say anything more for the next few seconds, and Jason gathered himself enough to realize that he was in the med bay of the Batcave. Great. Exactly where he didn't want to be. He couldn't quite remember how he had gotten here though, and as usual, curiosity got the best of him as Jason finally asked, "What happened?"

"You tell me," Dick replied. The good humor from earlier was gone. "I thought the worst when I couldn't raise you on the comms anymore, but when we got to your location, you were just unconscious."

Dick paused a moment. He was still suited up, but his mask was off, and there was something tentative in his expression. He held Jason's gaze a few beats, and Jason saw none of his usual easygoing and amiable nature. "I know Slade," he said. "He fulfills a contract at any cost. You were unconscious when we found you, but otherwise unharmed. What happened to have him renege on a contract like that?"

Jason frowned as he tried to recall what happened. He remembered that strange feeling both he and Slade had felt—karmic entanglement of some sort, but that didn't make any sense. Jason's soulmark signified his death. How did Slade fit into that equation?

"I don't know," Jason said aloud. He really didn't. None of this made any sense at all.

"Could it have something to do with this?" Dick tapped his arm lightly, and Jason glanced down. His sleeve was still pushed up, exposing the stark white face topped with green hair, maniacal red lips in a sadistic smile—his soulmark.

Jason hurriedly pulled his sleeve down, instinctively pulling away and curling his arm protectively toward his chest. He glared back at Dick, "who else saw?"

"Just me. I got there first and kept your sleeve down until you were back here safe." Dick held his gaze steadfast, as if to impart the veracity of his account, and an affirmation that he would keep Jason's secret in confidence. He finally faltered, though, when he admitted, "I didn't know, Jay. I had no idea."

Dick looked away and stared down at his hands. He had one palm over his wrist, where Jason knew that under the carbon-weave of his Nightwing suit, he had a lightning bolt emblazoned on his skin—the mark of his soul's entwinement with Wally's. He was even rubbing it unconsciously, as if seeking some measure of comfort when confronted with a soulmark as abhorrent as Jason's.

"Of course you didn't fucking know. Why the fuck would I tell _you_?" Jason cried out, suddenly angry at the iniquity between them. Years of buried resentment rose to the surface, because despite childhood tragedy, Fate had still handed Dick a boon in the promise of love—so deep and true and eternal that it was branded into his and Wally's souls. All Fate had given Jason was the promise of a gruesome death.

Dick looked stricken, shaken to the core at the depths of Fate's cruelty. Perhaps he didn't want to believe it, or perhaps he believed there had to be some mistake, because the next thing he asked was, "Do you feel… I mean, when you touch it, it can't mean…?"

Jason's jaw almost hit the floor, because Dick was not asking what Jason thought, was he? Was Dick asking if the Joker was his _soulmate?_

"Hell no!" Jason fumed. "How could you even ask me that? The only thing I feel when I touch the fucking thing is what it felt like to have my head caved in."

Dick had the decency to look ashamed at least, but Jason was already up and off the medical gurney he had been laying on.

"Jason, wait. I'm sorry! I shouldn't have assumed." Dick was trying to salvage the situation, but as far as Jason was concerned, the conversation was over. Still, he tried to head Jason off as he made for the exit.

He grabbed Jason's shoulder, but Jason turned just enough to say, "Fuck you! I don't want your pity!"

Dick didn’t let go. He kept pushing. "Does Bruce know?" he demanded.

Jason paused and turned. "Yes. He would have seen it on my body after I died. He saw it when I tried to get him to kill the Joker for me, and he didn't do a fucking thing about it.” Bitterness tainted his voice, but he managed to keep calm and even-toned. He’d come to terms with this fact a long time ago.

Dick finally released him, and Jason stomped out of the med bay only to come face to face with none other than Bruce. He'd been listening.

They stood looking at each other. Bruce had his cowl down, and his eyes seemed oddly pinched. His jaw was clenched, and the corners of his mouth were twitching downward. There was a squeak of leather and Jason glanced down to see Bruce's fists were clenched.

"Jason…," Bruce unclenched a fist, though his movements were stiff and cautious as he reached a hand up.

"You made your choice," Jason stated, and moved out of reach. He stepped around Bruce and then ran. He was suddenly desperate to be anywhere but in the Batcave. He hopped onto the first bat-cycle he found, twisted the throttle and roared out of the cave.

Bruce didn't stop him as he sped away.


	2. Chapter 2

Jason couldn't really blame Dick for reacting the way he did. Not really, because once he cooled down, he knew Dick was just like almost everyone else. For the large proportion of the population who ever got a soulmark, it meant exactly what Dick had assumed it did. When your parents were soulmates, and you, your partner, and most of your friends in loving relationships bore similar sets of reciprocal markings, there wasn't really a reason not to subscribe to popular interpretation. There wasn't any reason to question it too deeply. Simple as that.

There were exceptions of course. Bruce didn't have one, for example. He was lucky—it meant Fate had left him to his own devices, allowing him to forge his own path and choose his own partners. It didn't mean that he never would have a soulmark, but for the moment, it meant that he was _free_.

Not having a soulmark was less common, and an unreciprocated soulmark more so. None of these situations explained what had happened with Slade Wilson the other night though. Jason hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since, and he wasn't sure he wanted to, but to feel impressions from another's soulmark when you weren't reciprocally paired was completely unheard of. Then again, so was an unreciprocated _deathmark,_ but Jason himself was evidence that such a thing existed. 

The closest explanation Jason could find for his connection to Slade, after spending hours digging into academic papers, was theories suggesting that soulmarks merely represented the karmic entanglement of greatest influence in your life. It still did little to enlighten the situation. The impression that Jason had gotten from Slade could be summed up as an overwhelming _intensity_. It wasn't exactly pain, but it had left him reeling. Beyond that, Jason couldn't pinpoint any description of the sensations. The impression hadn't felt like death either, so what was it? And what did it mean?

For all Jason knew, Slade had karmically lined up to murder him too, and the Joker had simply beat him to it. However, that didn't explain why Slade had left him unharmed. Jason's best guess was perhaps Slade _couldn't_ kill him, the same way Jason couldn't kill the Joker—there was only one way Jason could die, and that was by the Joker's hand, not the other way around. Slade had apparently lost the karmic lottery to take Jason's life.

Or... perhaps Slade was just as confused about this too? Whatever the reason, it warranted a continued heightened vigilance. Slade would likely come find him again at some point, either to fulfill the contracted hit, or to find answers. Jason wasn't looking forward to either.

The Red Hood also wasn't one to cower away at any given danger though. Jason simply updated his routine to adapt. He swapped out his ammo—rubber bullets for armor-piercing rounds, Batman be damned—and stocked up on C4 and other explosives. He rigged his armor, his helmet, and weapons with defensive shocks. He secreted knife sheaths, daggers, and blades in every pocket, strap, boot, and band on his person. He was armed to the teeth. If Slade tried to take him down, he wouldn't go without a fight.

However, it was fairly obvious starting on his first night out since the incident, that what lurked in corners, hunkered in shadows, and streaked through the air like phantoms in the night wasn't the world's deadliest assassin, but various _Bats._ They kept their distance, surveilling him from crevices and corners that were just a little too far away for him to shoot. More than once he saw a set of pointy ears, and after the second sighting, Jason knew they were letting him see them on purpose. Dick had probably put them up to it, as if enhanced stalking served as some kind of apology.

It didn't. Not when none of them were willing to do the one thing that would actually save him—kill the Joker. 

Jason kept his comms off, even the emergency line. After a week they started to take a hint. The stalking dropped off. Jason went back to doing what he did before, and picked up the trail of the Penguin's latest operation.

*******************

A few weeks later, Jason entered a small diner with the intention of meeting the only bat-family member he regularly enjoyed spending time with, Alfred, but instead of the gray-haired, polished figure of the kindly old butler, there sat a white-haired man of a different sort. Slade Wilson gestured at the opposite seat, leveling a look that meant business despite having one eye covered by a black eyepatch. Alfred was nowhere to be seen, which meant he was the bargaining chip, and Jason could do nothing but oblige.

"_Wilson_." Jason nearly snarled his name as he slid into the diner booth. There were already plates of food on the table. Slade's was half finished. Jason left his own untouched. The booth was out of the way and relatively secluded, which usually served both him and Alfred well in their quiet conversations, but there was no solicitude sitting across from Slade. 

"Where is he?" Jason's words cut low and exacting across the table. "If you hurt him, I will fucking kill you."

"And here I thought you'd gone soft, just like the rest of your little family of fanatics," the other man leaned back into his seat with a sly grin, "and you can just call me Slade."

"Fine, _Slade._" Jason leaned forward, reaching one hand down for the holster he had concealed at his hip. "Now tell me where Alfred is before I show you just how soft and squishy I am by blowing you a new hole where the sun don't shine."

Slade chuckled at that. "Easy kid. That almost sounds like a proposition. Your old man is fine for now, but I can't guarantee he'll stay that way if you do me any grave bodily harm." 

"What do you want?" Jason snapped, but backed off slightly. He had to tread carefully. Alfred was surprisingly tough and capable, but Slade was good at what he did, and he had chosen his leverage well.

"We're just gonna talk." Slade kept his hands in view on the table, presumably a signal of non-threat, but Jason didn't buy it. The man could probably kill him a dozen ways in two seconds flat even though he was dressed casually in a black leather jacket and dark shirt. When he was sure that he had Jason's full attention, Slade nodded downward at Jason's right arm. "I want to know about that mark on your arm."

"What mark?" he bluffed, but even though he'd been expecting the question, Jason couldn't fully suppress a minute flinch. 

Slade saw it, and arched a brow. "Don't play stupid, kid. It doesn't suit you, and you're wasting time by playing coy. The old butler's waiting."

Shit. Slade was right. The longer he played cat and mouse, the longer Alfred was in danger. Jason needed to play along until he could figure out where Slade had taken Alfred.

"What do you want to know?" Jason finally said through gritted teeth.

It was Slade's turn to lean in this time, sliding both his elbows onto the table as he laced his fingers together. He fixed his single blue eye on Jason, and Jason instinctively backed away before he could stop himself. There was something in Slade's gaze that was more than dangerous. It was predatory. And Jason couldn’t help but think he was something like a wolf, lurking in the shadows before revealing his true savagery. 

"When'd you get that mark?" Slade asked.

"Right before the Joker brained me, blew me up, and then buried me under a pile of concrete." Years of death jokes had mostly inured Jason to the impact of his own words, but saying them aloud in front of Slade still left him somehow uneasy.

Slade gave a low whistle in response, and then, "I heard about a little birdie that got offed by the Joker a while back. So that was you."

"That was me," Jason shrugged. "Just your regular, everyday bird who screwed up and rose from the ashes. Like a phoenix without the fire and fanfare. And a lot more dirt."

"And how did the phoenix part happen?" Slade probed.

"Don't know. Just crawled out my grave one day." 

Slade shifted away from the table, seemingly thoughtful. He rested against the seatback of the booth and folded his hands over his middle, but held himself in a way that his hands were still visible so that Jason could see them. "Rough way to go," he said casually, but his single steely blue eye was assessing. "Messy."

"I don't recommend it," Jason concurred.

"I would have made it quick. Clean." Slade raised his hand and mimed a slashing motion across his neck. "Just for you."

"You should change your name," Jason ventured. "Cleanstroke, the Messy Death Hater. I'm sure the ladies would be impressed."

"Ain't no ladies here," Slade grunted, "and with jokes like that, maybe putting you out of your misery would have been a favor." There was a little upturn at the corner of Slade's mouth as he gave a wolfish grin, his lips just slightly parted so one could see a glint of teeth.

"I can appreciate a man of mercy." Jason matched his smirk.

"Can you?"

Jason opened his mouth but nothing came out. He snapped his mouth shut, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward. Somewhere along the way they had fallen into repartee. It bordered on the edge of playful, and Jason couldn't quite figure out how he had let that happen.

When Jason failed to continue, Slade picked up the inquisition again. "Did you try to kill him?"

There was no question of who. The Joker. "Tried and couldn't," Jason answered.

"Why not?" Slade was leaning in again.

"I imagine the same reason you couldn't kill me." Jason consciously forced himself not to lean back, returning Slade's steady gaze. "Fate stayed my hand. Said it wasn't to be."

Slade narrowed his single eye, "Do you honestly believe that?"

"It's not about belief. It's a fact." Jason said stubbornly. He wasn't sure why he answered at all, but Slade was pushing into uncomfortable territory, and he didn't like it.

"So it's a fact that Fate dragged your corpse out of the ground just so the Joker could kill you again?" Slade was carefully watching him, as if studying him for his reaction. 

Jason wasn't sure what Slade was looking for, but he answered, "Fate's enough of a prick that I wouldn't be surprised if my destiny is to repeatedly get fucked over."

"I see." Slade’s voice was so low it sounded almost like a growl. "You think Fate screwed you over, but maybe things aren't that simple."

That caught him off guard. "What do you mean? If this is about the other night… that was your soulmark?"

"What do you think?" Slade held out his right arm, sitting up so he could lay his forearm on the table. He was still wearing the leather jacket and the material should have been thick enough to block a karmic reaction, but even as Jason tentatively reached out he could feel something. It felt like heat. 

Slade nodded at him, encouraging him to continue, and Jason touched the tip of his finger to the spot where he had grabbed Slade before. The heat shot straight up Jason's arm, flaring through his chest, and Jason immediately pulled back.

"But… that doesn't make any sense," Jason shook his head in disbelief. His heart was racing. They weren't paired, not with Jason having the _Joker_ stamped onto his arm. Feeling impressions from another's soulmark was impossible without reciprocation, but it had happened the other night, and it happened again now. 

"Your soulmark," Jason was still shaking his head in disbelief, "what is it?"

"Q and A is over." Slade suddenly got up from the booth.

"What? Wait!" Jason got up after him, "You're just gonna leave? Where's Alfred?"

"Five blocks over, third floor apartment." He tossed Jason a set of keys and pointed down the block. "See ya later, kid." 

Jason hesitated only a moment, wanting answers from Slade, but also needing to make sure Alfred was safe. Answers would have to wait. He sprinted toward the building while Slade walked away in the other direction. It was possible it was a misdirection, but Jason didn't want to take the chance when Alfred was at risk.

He slowed as he approached the front of the building. It was derelict, but occupied, and Jason slipped in the front door just as a resident was leaving. He made his way through the foyer and up the stairs, keeping his weapon holstered but at the ready. He had to be careful—the building was filled with civilians, and Jason could hear the sounds of living in the low hum of televisions and the murmur of voices through the paper thin walls.

He made it to the third floor, treading lightly as he turned the corner. At the end of the hall, there was a door slightly ajar. He drew his weapon and hugged the wall before swiftly kicking in the door. The room was clear. So was the next room, but Jason heard a muffled cry come from the small closet. He opened the door, and sure enough, it was Alfred. He was cuffed and gagged, but otherwise unharmed.

"My dear boy! Are you alright?" Alfred exclaimed as soon as Jason removed the gag.

"I should be asking you that," Jason let out a sigh of relief. He helped Alfred to his feet, keeping a firm grip on the old man's arm. "Come on, let's get you home."

*******************

Jason drove Alfred back to the Manor himself. He left before any of the Bats were alerted to what happened, but once he was sure that the old butler was safe, Jason initiated his burnout protocols. He couldn't assume anything was secure anymore. Slade had figured out his routine with Alfred, which meant he had probably followed Jason when he was out as a civilian. He fried the electronics and surveillance to his safehouse, packed up whatever he could carry, and save for the essentials of his Red Hood gear, he then torched the rest.

It was early evening by the time he was heading toward a bolt hole in the south end. His plan was to lay low until he could figure out what the hell was going on, because this… _thing_ with Slade wasn't something he expected. If he was being honest with himself he had no idea how to react. Slade trying to kill him he could deal with, but Slade forcing him into a conversation at the diner, and then allowing him to feel the impression from his soulmark… it implied things he wasn't equipped to deal with. It wasn't something he was ready to consider right now, or perhaps ever.

Jason made it about a mile over the rooftops of the Narrows, traversing the chasms of alleys between buildings as he grappled and vaulted from building to building, when a figure in black and blue dropped alongside him.

"Hood!" Dick reached to grab his arm. "We need to talk."

Jason shrugged out of the way and kept going, but Dick was faster, and maneuvered to block his path. "This is serious. I need you to come back to the cave. Now."

"Is Alf–, I mean Agent A, is he okay?" Jason immediately stopped, concerned that he had missed something with the old man.

"He's fine," Dick reassured, but then, "this is about what happened earlier."

"It won't happen again. Tell A I'm sorry, but I won't come around anymore." Saying it hurt more than Jason had expected, but he had no intention of ever putting Alfred in danger by association again.

"No," Dick shook his head. "Don't do that… but that's not what I meant. This is about Deathstroke. Slade."

"Yeah yeah," Jason brushed past Dick and made to leap for the next building. "Slade wants to kill me. I know."

"It's more than that," Dick grabbed his shoulder and spun Jason to face him. "Something happened tonight. There was a breakout at Arkham."

Jason froze. 

"He's _out_, Jason." Dick didn't say who, but Jason knew.

He was thankful he still had his helmet on, because he felt the blood drain from his face at those words. It was the Joker. He had escaped, and it likely wasn't a coincidence. Not with Slade's recent reappearance. "He wants to use him to kill me," Jason concluded.

"Come back to the cave," Dick still had his hand on Jason's shoulder. "We can keep you safe until we can recapture him."

"No." Jason shoved Dick's hand away.

"But Jason, your soulmark–"

"Means that no matter what you do, he's _still_ going to fucking kill me," Jason snapped.

"No, we can stop him," Dick protested.

"You can't. You won't. There's only one way to stop him from fulfilling my fate, and that's if you…," Jason trailed off. Something wasn't right about this. Slade could use the Joker to kill him sure, but that didn't explain why Jason could feel impressions from Slade's soulmark, unless….

"What's his soulmark?" Jason turned back to Dick. "You and him had something going on back in the day, right? Before you got your marks with Wally. What's Slade's soulmark?"

"What? I…," Dick was actually flustered. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just tell me," Jason demanded.

"It's… it's a robin," Dick admitted, "but it's not what you think. It never went anywhere with him. I never got a reaction from it because it wasn't reciprocal. I never… I didn't…," Dick paused, mouth hanging open as he lost his words. He slowly shook his head, realization dawning. "Oh god. It wasn't me. It was _never_ me. It's _you._"

Hearing it said aloud somehow made it seem all the more obvious and irrefutable, but sometimes bringing something into the light only made it all the more terrifying. Feeling someone's soulmark impressions meant karmic entanglement, and what Jason had felt from Slade wasn't death. Jason knew what death felt like. Which meant….

Jason couldn't breathe. His chest felt constricted and his throat tight. He yanked off his helmet, gasping in air as the world suddenly seemed to spin around him. He fell to his knees, and he felt Dick approach, reaching out to put his hands on his back, but Jason flinched violently away. He didn't want to be touched. He couldn't stand to be consoled. The implications of his karmic entanglement with Slade was too much to take in and he couldn't process it. Jason allowed instinct to take over and followed the first thought that cut through the onslaught of emotions—_run._

Jason lashed out, managing to catch Dick by surprise and knocking him off his feet while setting his body taser to stun. Dick fell to the ground, momentarily immobilized from the shock, and Jason took the opportunity to flee, vaguely registering that Dick was shouting behind him as he bolted away. He didn't stop to consider what he was doing or where he was running to. He just knew he needed to get away and find someplace _safe._ He kicked off the ledge of the rooftop, landing with a clang on the adjacent building's fire escape, and then clambered down into the alley below. He stumbled out into the street, running down the block and across the road. 

There was suddenly a screeching of tires, and Jason turned just in time to jump onto the hood of a car that had been just about to barrel him down. He impacted the windshield, and then went tumbling over the roof and trunk before hitting the ground once more.

Jason groaned and tried to turn over, his body aching with sharp pains. He felt dizzy and nauseous, and his vision blurred. 

"Shit." A set of heavy boots stepped into Jason's field of view, and he turned his head just enough to see a split-mask of orange and black with a single white-lensed eye looking down upon him.

Deathstroke. Slade. 

"Didn't mean to hit you that hard," Slade said. "Good thing it's pretty much impossible for me to actually kill you." A soft chuckle followed, and then, "You're going to be fine, kid. Trust me." Jason felt himself lifted into the car. The door slammed shut and the car was then speeding away.

The next part was a blur. It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours. All Jason remembered was that he was starting to feel cold and numb as he faded in and out. Then the car stopped, and Slade was dragging him out of the car and into a building. He struggled, but each movement brought on a wave of nausea and pain.

However, even before he was barely in the door, Jason could hear it—a low giggle that spiraled into maniacal laughter. 

"Hehehe… ha ha ha ha! _HahahahaHAHAHAHA_!"

It was the Joker, and Slade was dragging him into the building and toward the man who had murdered him.

"No!" Jason mustered up the strength to twist out of Slade's grasp and try to crawl away.

"Jesus kid, stop fighting!" Slade jabbed his fist into Jason's ribs, and he couldn't stop the cry of pain that escaped his lips.

"Hahahahaaaa!" The Joker was in view now, his vivid green hair and white face contrasting starkly with blood-red lips. It was a visage Jason knew all too well, as it had seared into his memory as well as the soulmark upon his arm. The Joker was hogtied with some sort of cable wire not more than twenty feet away, looking on at the scene with glee. "Ooooh, Deathstrokey baby, you brought a birdie to play!" the Joker laughed. "He's a little worse for wear. Some used goods after the first time, but let's rip off his wings anyway, hahahahaaaa!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Slade kicked out, catching the Joker in the jaw and slamming his mouth shut. Blood bubbled from his lips as he burst into laughter again.

Slade ignored him, instead he turned to Jason, sword in his right hand. "Jason, I want you to pull yourself together and get the fuck up. Watch."

Jason found himself struggling into a half sitting position, rolling onto his side and supporting himself with his hands. He did it not inasmuch to obey Slade, but to prepare himself for whatever came next. He felt sick and barely conscious; his chest hurt with every labored breath sending sharp spikes of pain through his frame. He scrambled backwards, crabwalking until his back hit a wall.

Slade waited until Jason was staring back at him, then he walked over to the Joker and grabbed him by the hair, lifting him up until he sat on his haunches. He remained upright as Slade let go, then Slade drew out a long, gleaming blade, wielding it in both hands.

The Joker had his last laugh as Slade swung his sword across in an arc, the glint of metal like a spark of light as it severed the clown's head from his body. Whatever vestige of life was left spurted out in a fountain of blood that splattered up into the air and then rained down all over the floor.

Suddenly, Jason felt an intense burning stab through his right arm. "Ah!" he sucked in a breath and curled into himself, the pain far outweighing the aches and pains he had recently received from Slade dragging him here.

"Easy there, kid. Easy." There was a set of strong arms pulling him into an embrace and petting his hair. "Let's see it. Come on," Slade coaxed, as he drew Jason's arm away from the curl of his chest. 

Jason resisted, but he was trembling from adrenaline and shock. Slade pulled at his jacket, shucking it off his shoulders, and then he was tearing at the fabric of Jason's sleeve. Jason looked away, too terrified at what he might see, but Slade grabbed his chin and turned his head back to face him.

"Look," Slade said, the rumble of his voice was surprisingly gentle. "Jason, look. I told you it was going to be okay."

Jason finally cast his eyes down upon his arm. The horrific soulmark face of the Joker was no longer there. It had been replaced, and now there was an image of what looked like a wolf, its orange and black coloring, split half and half across its face, leaving no question on who it could represent.

Jason looked at the Joker's decapitated body not more than a few feet away, at the blood that pooled on the floors, and felt the sting of the fresh soulmark that seemed to root all the way down to his core. Jason let out a sob of ineffable emotion, hugging his arm to his chest, too overwhelmed to look at the fresh soulmark anymore.

"Shhh," Slade crouched beside him, removing his mask as he tilted Jason's chin up. "Things are going to be different now, I promise you that." 

A soft kiss against his forehead was the last thing he felt before Jason slipped into unconsciousness. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHECK OUT THE ART that goes with this story! Link at the bottom :)
> 
> Content Warning for some dubious consent. This isn't meant to be a kink fic, but Slade is still a jerk that pushes Jason’s boundaries without asking first.

Jason didn’t remember how Slade got him out of Gotham, but he did have hazy memories of being in some sort of moving vehicle. After that, he remembered being laid out onto a soft bed in a dimly lit room. Slade had undressed him, tending to his bruised and battered body from when Slade had hit him with a car.

More than once Jason tried to push him away, but Slade merely pinned him down and pressed his fingers against Jason's new soulmark—the orange and black wolf that represented Slade. The heat was no less intense this time than what he had felt from Slade before, but it was less shocking, and the longer Slade's fingers lingered on his skin, the more he could parse out the impressions. 

“Do you feel that?” Slade had said, as he stroked the wolf mark over and over with his thumb.

Jason had protested, still hazy and delirious from his injuries. He tried to withdraw his arm to get away from the stimulation, but Slade continued and the heat spread out all along his body. The sensation felt like a deep yearning, growing into a feeling of _want_ until it burned like an _urgent need._

Slade brushed his other hand along Jason’s thigh and across the front of his briefs, and an overwhelming arousal shot down to his groin. Jason couldn’t suppress a whimper as he arched his back despite the pain of his injuries. He could feel himself growing hard as Slade trailed his hand along the length of him, the thin fabric of his underwear doing little to guard against the firm assuredness of Slade’s hand.

A soft chuckling followed. "Yeah, I thought so."

Slade continued stroking down to his flank, and rubbing at Jason’s soulmark on his arm until Jason managed to grab both of Slade’s hands. “Stop it,” Jason panted. “Stop. I can’t. It's too much.”

Slade responded by twisting out of his grasp, reversing the hold and pinning Jason’s wrists to his sides. Slade leaned over him, "Fate wasn't done with you after putting you in the path of the Joker, because you weren’t done with _me_. I wasted too many years fixated on the wrong Robin. I intend to fix that." He leaned down and pressed a kiss against Jason’s mouth. 

Slade shifted his hand to touch Jason’s mark again, and the sudden impression of desire had Jason opening his mouth in a groan. Slade used the opportunity to taste him, licking into his mouth and pressing the kiss deeper. When he finally pulled away, Jason was breathless. 

“But I don’t need to fix it today.” He released Jason and stepped away. “Get some rest.”

There was the prick of something against his arm, and it didn't take long for him to succumb to sleep.

*******************

When he woke next, it was to the dying light of the day. Jason could hear the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze and the subtle chirp of crickets beginning outside. He carefully rolled off the bed, the familiar ache of bruised ribs impeding any quick movement. He planted his bare feet on the cold wood floor, trying to steady himself. He shivered slightly as he was only wearing a pair of briefs, but the involuntary movement sent small twinges of pain along the length of his body. His ribs were sore, but nothing felt broken, and there was a tenderness around his legs and ankle. There were large purple bruises all along his torso, and probably up and down his back. Jason glanced briefly at the orange and black wolf on his arm, but quickly looked away. He was careful not to touch it.

He found a discarded flannel shirt on a nearby chair, donning it absently as he shuffled to look out the window. All he could see was a thick expanse of woodlands. 

Besides the bed and chair, the room he was in was otherwise bare. It was time to see what was outside the room. It was time to find Slade. Jason pulled a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around himself, then hobbled forward and opened the door.

He was immediately hit with the smell of food—a rich, thick scent of cooking meat. Jason's stomach rumbled. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. He took a few steps into the room, noting the rustic wood structure, the windows on two walls, the two exits, and another door that possibly led to another room.

There was a single figure with silvery-white hair crouched by the fireplace on the far side. Slade was tending some kind of pot suspended over the fire, but rose to stand as Jason entered. He was dressed casually in denim, with a dark jacket over a plain shirt. The eyepatch was secured over his blinded eye, but the other immediately fixed on Jason with his piercing gaze.

"About time you woke up," Slade said as Jason approached. "Sit down before you hurt yourself." He pointed to a small table and chairs.

Jason sat down, because standing was really starting to hurt, and not because Slade told him to. He eased himself into a chair, remembering that there was a reason he was in such pain. He turned back to the man responsible, "You hit me with a car."

"It seemed like the fastest way to subdue you,” Slade shrugged, “and I knew it wouldn't kill you." He retrieved some bowls from a nearby kitchenette and began spooning what looked like a stew from the pot in the fire.

Jason’s mouth watered, but then he remembered he was supposed to be having an argument. "Yeah, it stopped me sure, but leaving me brain dead would have been okay?"

"I watched you for weeks,” Slade replied. “Are you telling me that I overestimated your reflexes?" He looked back at Jason with that same cunning grin Jason had seen on him at the diner. It was wolfish. Definitely wolfish, matching the karmic signature now emblazoned on his arm.

Slade plunked down a bowl of stew in front of Jason, and then another bowl for himself as he sat down on the opposite side of the small table. Jason stared down at the food. He was hungry, but he also wasn’t sure what Slade was at. 

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Slade took a bite from his own bowl. “I’m not going to kill you. Was cutting off the head of your karmic enemy not enough to convince you?”

“I…,” Jason flushed, unsure of how to respond. He looked down at his arm. The orange and black wolf was covered by the sleave of the borrowed shirt, which Jason now realized also belonged to Slade, but he could feel the karmic connection even as he just thought about it. It was like a low grade warmth, somehow both newly terrifying and comforting at the same time. 

Still unsure of what to say, Jason took a bite of the stew. It was good. It tasted like venison—probably something Slade had hunted himself. 

The thought of him killing brought to mind the image of the Joker… his decapitated head still smiling even as blood poured from the carotid artery of the body it had been detached from.

The food suddenly tasted like ash, and Jason felt sick. He was no stranger to murder, and he was grateful for what Slade had done, even though he had yet to express it. It was just that he had lived with the reality of his destiny for so long, and now that it had changed, it left Jason feeling somehow lost. Even if he was now karmically entangled with Slade, he didn't know what that really meant. He hardly knew the man, and a reciprocal soulmark didn't preclude one from hurting or killing the other, and most of their previous interactions had been marked with brutality and violence.

Jason looked up from his food to find Slade was staring back at him. Jason did his best to meet his eye as he spoke.

"You killed him. You knew this would happen," he gestured toward where the new wolf mark now sat on his arm. "How long did you know?"

"I didn’t." Slade put down his spoon, crossing his arms to lean forward on the table. "It didn’t click that you were one of Batman’s brats until I tried to kill you. It had crossed my mind before that I'd missed the mark assuming I'd been marked with Grayson, but I wasn’t motivated to figure out which one of you kids was going to be another disappointment. At least not until I felt the karmic impression from you. Then everything changed."

He didn't explain further, and in a way he didn't need to. He had probably thought he simply had an unreciprocated soulmark with none other than Dick, the first Robin. It happened from time to time—a soulmark that failed to pair would appear, and those people were considered doomed to heartbreak. Sometimes the karmic contract that an unreciprocated mark represented would eventually be fulfilled in some other way. The mark would fade, and those people could move on. Slade probably had hoped his would fade someday as well, until that night he tried to kill Jason.

Jason picked at his food a while longer until he finally gave up. He was too anxious to eat, and he moved to sit by the fire as Slade cleaned up. He huddled on the floor, foregoing the tattered couch in favor of getting closer to the heat, pulling a blanket tightly around his shoulders and bare legs. He was still staring blankly into the glowing flames when Slade joined him, sitting an arms length away. The other man just watched him. Waiting.

After a few moments Jason returned the attention to take in the presence of the man beside him. Slade had removed his jacket and partially rolled up his sleeves at some point while cleaning. A hint of his soulmark peeking through from under the cuff.

Jason tried not to look, but as usual, curiosity got the best of him. "Can I see it?" he asked.

Slade arched a brow, that stupid smirk turning up the corner of his mouth, but he obliged. He held out his arm, shifting his cuff slightly higher so Jason could see.

It was indeed a robin; it's distinct orange-red breast contrasting against the dark brown and gray of it's head and back. With spread wings and all, it took up about a palm-sized portion of his forearm, in almost the exact location where Jason now bore a wolf. 

Before he realized what he was doing, Jason reached out to touch it. This time he was prepared for the intensity of it, that flush of hot need that spread up and down his body. He held on, the connection running deeper and deeper, until it felt like something a little different. It felt like longing….

Jason felt a hand touch his face, and he realized at some point he had closed his eyes. He blinked them open to see Slade had moved in, his face only inches away. Jason could see the flicker of firelight reflected in the glint of his single eye. Then Slade was tracing the lines of Jason's face with his fingers, running his fingers across his brow, down his cheekbones, cupping along his jaw and then stroking the edge of Jason's bottom lip with his thumb. Slade's other hand began slowly pushing the blanket off his shoulders. 

The blanket fell to the floor, leaving his legs exposed, and Slade shifted forward to kneel in between them. His hands went to unbutton Jason's shirt.

Jason's heart began to race, his breath becoming short as Slade's hands grazed his stomach when he reached the last button of the shirt. Then it was being pulled down his shoulders and arms, Slade's rough fingers immediately sought out Jason's soulmark, rubbing and stroking at the wolf symbol on his skin. 

"Slade…," Jason breathed, his lips trying to form words, but between the stimulation of the other man's touch, the karmic impressions and the rising arousal, Jason for the life of him couldn't put a sentence together. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say. He wasn't even sure he wanted this. Everything was moving so fast. "Slade," he said again, but Slade was kissing him now, smothering any potential protest with his lips and tongue.

Jason felt himself being pushed down slowly until his back hit the floor, and then Slade was kissing down his neck, tonguing the hollows of his throat before moving down his arm. Slade began to suck and lick and probe at his soulmark, and oh…. _Oh._

His body was suddenly aflame in both the pleasure of Slade drawing out soul impressions, and from the pain of the shudders that suddenly wracked his ribs.

"Easy," Slade soothed. "Too much?"

Jason could only nod in response, and Slade abandoned the soulmark only to attack his mouth again. The pain of movement eventually subsided, at least until Slade pulled away to divest himself of his shirt. Jason watched as the muscles rippled across the arms and chest of the older man in the warm glow of firelight. His form was fit and trim, bulkier than Jason, and far stronger given his enhancements. Jason could clearly see the bulge of Slade's erection at his fly, and Jason was immediately apprehensive. Ending up here, on the floor, nearly naked beneath Slade Wilson, had not been something he had ever considered. And now, Slade was pulling something out of his pocket—a bottle of lube.

Slade reached down to remove Jason's briefs, and Jason finally found his voice–

"No! Wait," he stammered out. "I don't want to. I… I haven't done this before." Jason felt his face flush with heat.

Slade paused, quirking his brow, and his mouth broke into a sly grin. "Really?" There was that glint of teeth again, that hint of predatory instinct Jason had seen several times before. "Lucky for you, because I _have_ done this before. Trust me, you'll like this."

"Hey!" Jason objected as Slade went ahead and pulled down his briefs, and then he was covering Jason's mouth in a kiss, turning his muffled words into a moan.

Slade reached down and stroked his finger down the base of Jason’s cock. He was fully hard at this point, and he felt himself twitch as Slade stroked along his taint, his finger already slick with lube as he teased along Jason’s rim. The suggestion had something inside Jason fluttering, whether it was anxiety or anticipation he wasn’t sure, but his toes were curling as Slade rubbed at the wolfmark on his arm again, and Jason could do nothing but moan and pant.

"Is that still a no?" Slade breathed into his ear. He nudged his finger at the edge of Jason’s entrance at the same time he moved his other hand to rub at Jason’s prick, “because you’re hard as a rock and your hole is just asking to get fucked.”

Jason’s mind scrambled to find an answer, but the sensations of pleasure were obliterating any coherent thought. Slade wasn’t going to stop however, unless Jason said something soon.

His world dwindled down to some base, carnal drive that latched onto the feel of Slade's hands on him and wouldn't let go. That primal part of his brain seemed to take over, and he said, “Just this.” Jason moved his hands to clutch at Slade’s shoulders. “Don’t fuck me. Just use your hands,” he opened his legs wider to give Slade more access.

That irksome grin spread across Slade’s face again, and he continued to work Jason over. He stroked his cock in a slow, firm rhythm, and after he circled his finger a few times to tease around his rim, Slade thrust a finger in, pressing in deep and crooking it to stroke along Jason’s prostate. 

“Ah!” Jason gasped at the sudden intrusion, but Slade was good at this, and the discomfort was quickly overridden by the pulse of arousal. Jason groaned as Slade added a second digit, stretching his opening wider, and then there were more indecipherable and inarticulate noises coming out of the back Jason’s throat. Slade quickened his pace, stroking Jason faster, only to pause and squeeze at the base of his cock at the same time he scissored his fingers. He drew Jason closer and closer to the edge, and Jason was lost to it. All he could do was hold on, fingers digging into Slade’s skin as he finally tipped over the edge.

Slade covered Jason’s mouth with his own as Jason cried out. The orgasm was intense, and even painful as it forced Jason to curl inward in the spasms of release, straining his cracked ribs and bruises all along his back.

“Easy. That’s it,” Slade cooed as Jason rode the aftermath down. “That’s perfect. That’s beautiful.”

Jason could only lay there and pant as Slade backed up after a moment to unzip his own pants, pushing open his fly and pulling out his own leaking cock. He was long and thick, and the thought flashed across Jason’s mind that he was thankful Slade hadn’t forced that thing into him. Jason wouldn’t have been ready, and it would have hurt.

He didn't protest though, when Slade took Jason’s hand to wrap around his cock, and then covered it with his own to begin stroking himself. Slade reached his opposite hand down to pin Jason’s other arm, right over his soulmark, and it was a little surreal as Jason realized they were literally sharing their arousal. His own cock began to twitch to life again, the entanglement of the soulmarks working like a hot fire through both of their bodies. Slade finally reached his own climax, spurting his hot seed across Jason’s skin, and Jason followed suit a second time, releasing what was left of himself until he was utterly spent.

Slade collapsed beside him and gathered Jason into his arms. Sleep came quickly to Jason, nestled between the warmth of the nearby fire and the heat of Slade’s body against his back.

*******************

The next morning, Jason woke up alone. At some point in the night, they had moved to a bed, and vestiges of memory floated back to Jason—of Slade soothing him through a nightmare, strong arms wrestling the fear out of him, and gentle kisses that lingered along his temple. Though Slade was now nowhere to be seen, the sheets beside Jason were still warm.

There was some kind of heating system running, but it was minimal and the morning air was cold. Jason wrapped himself in blankets once more as he went in search of clothing. He was sore, more so than he had the previous night, which either spoke to him overextending himself, or Slade had drugged him at some point with pain killers. It was probably both, but now that they had worn off, moving about the cabin was extremely slow and painful.

There wasn't much in the way of clothing in the small bureau, just a few shirts, a pair of jeans and socks. No outerwear and all of it fit somewhat loose. It made do, at least until Jason stepped outdoors where it was frigid. He could see the fog of his breath as he stepped onto the porch of the small cabin. He didn’t have any shoes, and as he limped down the short length of steps to take a look around the structure, the moisture of the undergrowth immediately soaked through his socks.

Jason took in the wooded landscape. It was remote, and the cabin was likely completely off the grid. He spied a cistern, propane tanks, and solar panels, which supplied the water, electricity, and plumbing. There was no vehicle or recent tire tracks, which meant wherever Slade had recently gone, he had done so on foot. 

The remote location meant they would be hard to find if anyone was looking for them. It also made it nearly impossible for Jason to leave in his current condition. There was no outdoor equipment that he could see, and without any shoes or weather-appropriate clothing, if Jason set out into the wilderness he wouldn't make it very far. That was likely intentional on Slade's part—and after he returned to the cabin to root through the supplies, he was sure of it. There was little within the small rooms in the way of equipment that would help him leave. He found food, a few canned goods, but not much else he could carry. If Slade had left him here, he was screwed, and if Slade was coming back, Jason would be dependent on him for resources. That didn’t sit well with Jason, but there was little he could do at the moment, other than wait to see if the other man would return.

It was dusk by the time Slade came through the cabin door, hunting rifle in hand as he kicked off his boots, slinging a backpack down from his shoulder. Jason had been curled on the floor after rekindling the fire, having dozed off some hours ago. His body still ached as he stirred awake. Whatever drugs Slade had given him the previous day had long worn off, and now his limbs felt stiff and the pain of his ribs had returned in full force, but he leveraged himself up to face Slade.

"Where have you been?" It came out more distraught than he had envisioned in his head, but the long hours waiting for Slade to come back had him feeling a little anxious.

"Getting dinner," Slade unzipped the bag he had been carrying, revealing two rabbit carcasses, already field dressed. "Did I worry your pretty little head, darling?"

"Fuck you," Jason huffed, not willing to admit that he _had_ worried that Slade would disappear. 

"I intend to," the corner of Slade's mouth quirked upward.

Jason felt his cheeks go red, and he couldn't help but back up a step as Slade shucked his jacket and stalked toward him, moving right into Jason's personal space. He brushed a hand against Jason's flushed cheek before he leaned in to capture Jason's mouth in a kiss.

All his training, his defensive instinct, and his executive function seemed to go out the window as blood rushed down to his groin. Slade gripped Jason's chin, pushing his tongue deep, sucking and teasing his lips with soft bites. It felt surprisingly good, and Jason whimpered and gasped as Slade pressed his fingers against his soulmark. To his credit, Jason did manage to regain enough of his sensibilities to eventually shove Slade away, though he took a moment to regain his composure.

"Cut it out," he finally said. "You can't just have your way and leave me in the middle of nowhere, with fuck-all supplies and not tell me where you went. I don’t even know where this place is. Where are we?"

Slade had that smug look on his face again as he answered, "Nowhere you need to know."

"Are you serious? Are you trying to keep me here?" Jason said, incredulous.

"Yes," Slade crossed his arms. "Believe me, you're not going to want to deal with the shitstorm in Gotham right now."

"What's going on in Gotham?"

"I left the Joker's head on a pike. Pretty sure your _dad_ has found it by now." Slade stepped into his space again, as if daring Jason to push back. "Rumors are going around that you're finally good and dead. The Penguin doesn't believe it. He’s been knocking on my door for your body, and word on the street is the Bats have gone through and turned out all of your roosts. Everyone's looking for you."

That was indeed a mess Jason wasn't immediately keen on sorting out at the moment. His territory would be in shambles, his reputation tarnished, and his operations blown. And even then, in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder what did Bruce think? He must know at this point what had happened… Dick had surely told him what he had concluded about Slade's soulmark before Jason ran.

No doubt he'd be angry. They all would, Jason thought. They would come looking for him. And then what? Jason didn't know.

Even so, that wasn't for Slade to figure out, and Jason was feeling particularly contrary. "What if I want to be found?" he said, if only for the sake of argument.

"You don't." Slade saw right through him.

"What if I said I wanted to leave?"

"Do you?" Slade cocked his head, neither dismissive nor enthused.

"I don't know." And that was the truth. Jason didn't know what the hell he and Slade were doing here, but the alternatives weren't appealing either.

"You're staying here for now," Slade said, and it sounded final.

“Why should I?” Jason tried to stalk away, incensed at Slade’s gall and suddenly feeling angry at the situation, though the stiffness of his limbs from his injuries made the display of indignation a bit difficult. Jason hadn’t asked for any of this. He was glad to be free of the Joker, but he wasn't sure how to come to terms with being karmically tied to Slade either.

“Because I’m asking you to. That's why." Slade caught Jason's arm as tried to pass.

"I barely even know you." 

"Well then get to know me,” Slade leaned into Jason again, brushing his lips along his jaw. “Fate stuck me with you. If we’re going to be at each other’s throats, I’d rather it be of the more pleasant variety." He brushed his thumb up Jason’s arm, pressing into the wolfmark, causing that familiar bloom of heat to run through his body.

“What are you on about?” Jason sucked in a breath. He was starting to feel a little dazed, his body trembling as Slade kept the pressure on his mark. The arousal came on fast, and he very well had an idea of what Slade was on about at this point.

“Let me show you.”

Slade was quickly opening the front of Jason’s shirt, kissing at his neck as he nudged him backward until his legs hit the edge of the tattered couch, then he pushed Jason downward until he was sitting. 

Jason squirmed as Slade knelt between his knees, trying to reign in the onslaught of impressions he was getting from the soulmark, but Slade was already running his other hand up Jason’s thigh. Slade flicked open the button of Jason’s fly and pushed at the edge of his pants, putting his other arm under Jason’s shoulders to lie him down on the couch. Slade stared up at Jason, angling his functional eye upward as he kissed and nipped at the skin on the inside of Jason’s leg, moving up until Slade was nuzzling into Jason’s crotch through the thin fabric of his briefs. Slade pulled down the front and took the tip of Jason’s hardened member into his mouth. 

“Slade!” Jason curled inward at the spike of initial pleasure, but then suddenly his ribs and the muscles of his back were twinging in pain. “Wait,” he choked out. 

“Just lie back,” Slade chuckled, and then planted his hand on Jason’s abdomen. 

“No,” Jason pushed him away. “I’m serious. This time it really fucking hurts, so cut it out.”

Slade paused, abandoning his ministrations to move upward, straddling over Jason’s waist and leaning down over him. “This time?” he questioned. “Did it hurt last night?”

“Maybe. A little.” Jason reluctantly admitted.

Slade narrowed his gaze. He was looking at Jason with an intensity that he was beginning to learn was how Slade looked at everything. There was a constant edge to him, like a blade that never dulled, and yet his hands were now gently stroking along Jason’s sides, the pressure just light enough to feel soothing without aggravating the injuries underneath.

“You should have told me,” Slade leveraged himself off of Jason.

“Maybe I would have if you weren’t so fucking pushy,” Jason groused. “You hit me with a _fucking car_. Whatever you used to drug me yesterday wore off. Of course it fucking hurts!”

“Okay. Whatever you say, boss.” Slade put his hands up in a gesture of defeat.

Which was not what Jason was expecting. He’d expected Slade to fight and push and _force,_ but instead he was now turning away from the couch. “Where are you going?”

“To get you something for the pain.” Slade threw a blanket over him, and Jason clutched it around himself as he tucked himself back in and re-buttoned his shirt.

He took a calming breath as he realized his heart was jackhammering in his chest. Slade was moving too fast. Way too fast for Jason to adequately process what he was doing in this situation or what he wanted. Meanwhile, Slade was railroading ahead and making assumptions and decisions for Jason without giving him a choice.

“What is this?” Jason asked, after Slade returned with a glass of water and some pills. He eyed the pills suspiciously, wary of taking something that would put him in a vulnerable state when he was already feeling on edge with Slade.

“Percocet. Only thing I got.”

Jason immediately frowned. Percocet was a narcotic, and he couldn’t stop the images of his mother lying lifeless on the floor from flashing through his mind. “No.” He handed the pills back.

“Suit yourself.” Slade didn’t take them.

“No, that doesn’t suit me. What the fuck Slade?” Jason pushed himself to standing, ignoring the stabbing pain as he straightened up. “You’ve stranded me out in the middle of nowhere on purpose. I’m not taking your damn drugs just so you can fuck me.”

“Is that what you think this is about?” Slade practically snarled as his temper flared to life. “Fine, if you don’t like it, the door’s open,” he pointed toward the exit.

“Fine!” Jason stomped toward the exit, too furious and full of spite to acknowledge that this was probably a bad idea. He jammed his feet into Slade’s discarded boots, opened the door, and stalked off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freaking amazing art by Fleet_of_Red that goes with this story!  
[CLICK HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904347/chapters/49692689)


	4. Chapter 4

Hobbling out into the wilderness in a pair of ill-fitting boots, wearing nothing but a flannel shirt and jeans definitely had not been the best idea, but Jason found he didn’t care at the moment. He managed to suppress the protesting aches and pains from his body with his temper-fueled rush of adrenaline as he continued to stomp aimlessly into the woods.

So much had happened in the last couple of days that Jason wasn’t able to grapple with. Fate had revoked his destiny now, with the Joker dead and Jason somehow still alive, but now he was destined to be tied karmically to Slade—a man who was a cold blooded killer, who had forcibly kidnapped Jason and then had taken it upon himself to isolate him in a remote location. He had then pushed Jason into an intimacy he wasn’t sure he was ready to handle, while leaving Jason with no resources or supplies to flee.

At least walking off to get himself killed in the woods was something he could control. In the past, even when he’d been in the stickiest of situations as the Red Hood, he’d known that he’d somehow survive as long as the Joker had nothing to do with it. Now though, he could very well die of exposure, and oddly enough, the thought was somehow freeing. He could die if he wanted to by his own hand, which was something he could never say before.

“Jason!” Slade was shouting angrily from somewhere behind him. It sounded distant. Jason had been limping out into the darkness for a good twenty minutes at this point. “Goddamnit, Jason! Where the hell are you?” Slade’s voice echoed through the trees, but Jason ignored it.

He was starting to feel the cold however, the thin fabric he was wearing did little to ward off against the rapidly dropping temperature. Jason shivered, and he could barely see save for the light of the gibbous moon. He made out the jut of a ridge up ahead in the dim light and turned toward it, thinking he’d be able to get a sense of his location if he had a vantage point.

His muscles screamed and ached as he trudged upward, and by the time he reached the edge of the ridge he was exhausted. He heard the gurgle and gush of water running below—some kind of river or stream—but all Jason could see when he looked down was a dark chasm. He leaned over, trying to see if there was a way across, but in his exhausted state, with the darkness of the night and his trembling from the cold, Jason misjudged his footing.

The rocky ledge gave way underneath, and suddenly Jason was tumbling and sliding down a steep slope. The sound of rushing water turned into a roar right before he crashed into the blackness of an icy river. His shoulder impacted something hard, some stone or boulder, and Jason opened his mouth to scream, taking in a lung full of water as he was rapidly pulled downstream. He flailed, trying to break the surface of the water, but he was too exhausted and too much in shock.

Then out of nowhere, something caught his arm. Jason was hauled up and out of the river, coughing and sputtering as he was dragged onto the rocky shore.

“Shit.” Jason vaguely registered Slade’s gruff voice as he was turned onto his stomach, a hand pounding on his back as Jason choked out the water from his lungs. “Easy, kid. I got you,” he said, and Jason felt himself being lifted.

“F-f-uck… o-ff.” Jason flailed against Slade's hold. His teeth chattered and his whole body felt numb, but he pushed at Slade with whatever strength he could muster.

“So you can try and get yourself killed again? I don’t think so.” Slade hauled him over his shoulder, and this time Jason didn’t fight. He let Slade carry him back to the cabin.

Once there, Slade quickly stripped off Jason’s wet clothes, practically ripping open his shirt and tearing off his soggy jeans before draping a blanket over him and pushing him toward the fire. Jason was shaking too badly from the cold to do much else than huddle into himself in a fetal position on the floor. Slade set another log into the flame, then began stripping off his own clothes. He lifted the blanket, and Jason gasped as he felt the heat of bare skin suddenly pressing against his back.

Jason squirmed and tried to move away, but Slade wrapped his arms around Jason’s waist and hooked his legs around both of Jason’s to hold him still. “Quit moving,” Slade barked into his ear. “I’m not trying to fuck you. You’ve gone hypothermic. You need body heat.”

It was true. The part of Jason that was still cogent registered that plunging into icy water would do that to a body. That the tiredness he was feeling was more than just exhaustion and indicated his body temperature had gotten too low. He felt his eyes drooping… everything felt numb.

“Hey,” Slade jostled him, and Jason snapped his eyes open. “Stay awake. Come on.”

Jason simply groaned, but Slade kept talking, “You’re a fucking idiot. What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

“Y-you’re a j-jack… ass."

There was a rumbling in Slade's chest as he let out a low laugh. "Not what I asked, but I know." It could have all been Jason's head, but it was almost as if Slade was suddenly squeezing him tighter…. Jason felt the press of lips against his neck, just below his ear, and then, "I didn't realize this would be an adjustment that might fuck you up even more, but I'm telling you now—get your shit together."

His words were harsh and demanding, his voice a low grating sound against Jason’s ear, but there was something in Slade's intonation that wasn’t entirely unsympathetic. There was something firm in his voice that Jason found himself latching onto like an anchor.

Slade shifted around him, moving his arms around so that he was pinning Jason's biceps to his sides. He then reached over Jason's chest to press his thumb into the wolf mark on his arm. The scrape of rough hands and the initial heated reaction from the soulmark sent a painful prickling along Jason's skin. He twisted in Slade's grasp, trying to fight the wave of karmic impressions. His body felt overly sensitive, and there was a strange aching that suddenly gripped his heart.

Jason swallowed, a lump suddenly forming in his throat. He tried to turn around to look Slade in the eye, but Slade held him fast.

"No. Just listen," Slade's breath tickled against his neck, and Jason could feel the roll of his deep voice not just against his ear, but through his chest still pressed against Jason's back. "I didn't bring you here just so I could get laid," he said. "I didn't bring you here to _rape_ you. If that's what you're thinking, you’re wrong. I just needed to get you away from those idiots you call a family. I tracked you for weeks after I tried to kill you, but every time I tried to get close, they chased me off. I got lucky nabbing your old butler, and when I finally got to talk to you at the diner, I knew I couldn't let you go on like you were. I had to fix what Fate did to you."

Jason's heart started racing again, and though the shivers had subsided, he felt a new trembling of emotion course through him. He let out an involuntary sob, and Slade responded by kissing his hair.

"You’re used to being reckless," he continued, "because you lived too long knowing death was only going to come at you one way, and that was through the Joker. I’ve seen the scars on your arm, and I know you’re used to taking the blame for shit Fate stuck you with. You’re used to people giving fuck-all about you, but I told you, things are going to be different. I killed the fucking Joker for you. I broke my contract with the Penguin for you. Get it through your thick head—I'm trying to help you. Fate can fuck off. I did this to give _both _of us a chance to stop being screwed over.”

Jason wiped the wetness from his face, attempting to rotate around, and this time Slade loosened his grip enough to let him. Jason reached out to touch the robin that decorated Slade's arm. "I...," Jason gently caressed the edges of the bird's wings, "I’m sorry…. I'm damaged goods, Slade. You didn't exactly hit the jackpot getting stuck with me."

"Quit apologizing," Slade replied, his voice somehow both gentle and rough. "Just shut the fuck up." 

“You’re an ass Slade, you know that?” Jason gathered enough of himself to put on a wry smile.

Slade only smirked. “So you keep telling me. You're getting to know me better already.”

Slade continued to hold him. Jason was starting to feel warm, the heat of their soulmarks seemed to bring life back into Jason's body. He fell asleep cradled in Slade's arms.

__________________

They worked out a few issues over the next few days, and it turned out the cabin had more supplies than Jason had thought. They were simply hidden in panels in the floor and walls that he hadn't quite sussed out the first day.

"Did you think I'd be stupid enough to strand us here without any weapons?" Slade said as he opened up the floor panels, revealing an array of guns, tactical gear, and equipment. 

Jason picked through it, pulling out a few sidearms for himself, and noting the selection of goggles and imaging equipment. He indicated what looked like a set of night vision visors, and asked, "Is this how you found me so quickly?"

"Pretty much," Slade nodded. "I had to run a thermal scan of the whole area, and thankfully I packed a spare pair of boots."

"Why'd you let me go out there in the first place?" Jason took the guns he had chosen and moved to sit gingerly on the couch. He was extremely stiff and aching, and he had a fresh set of bruises from falling off the ledge into the water, but he still wasn’t keen on taking painkillers. Slade hadn’t pushed it again, and Jason had resigned to suffer through the healing process.

"Because you were pissing me off, and I'm pretty sure you would have fought me if I'd tried to stop you," Slade explained, to which Jason couldn't exactly disagree. "I figured you'd come back after you cooled down, not try to drown yourself in the river."

“I just got… a little carried away.” Not his finest moment for sure, but it was what it was.

“Uh huh.”

They left it at that, and afterwards they fell into a sort of silent agreement. Jason didn't try to leave again, and though Slade didn't exactly back off, he didn’t attempt to push Jason into intimacy for the next few days as he healed. Over the next week, they worked out a routine—Slade would disappear in the mornings, bringing home fresh game every day or so, and after a few more days, the aches had eased enough that Jason began to help with meals.

A week passed, and then another, and before Jason knew it, he’d been at the cabin over a month. By then he’d gotten most of his mobility back, and was even well enough to follow Slade on a few trips into the forest to check their traps for game.

"How are the ribs?" Slade asked one night after they’d finished dinner. They were sitting by the fire again, something they had done so often that Slade finally pulled the ratty couch forward and removed the cushions, revealing a fold-out mattress beneath. It was far more comfortable than sitting on the floor, even if Slade had harped about it being a fire hazard.

"Fine." Jason replied as Slade slid his hands under the hem of Jason's shirt to run his fingers along his stomach and chest. Jason shivered slightly at the sensations. He’d let Slade resume touching him again, though this still felt new to him. He wasn't sure if he would ever get used to Slade's attentions. 

"Better than fine?" Slade dipped his head and brushed his lips against Jason's collar, and he felt the scratch of Slade's stubble against his skin. "Because 'fine' has been what you've been saying this entire time."

"Yeah. Just.. _fine and dandy_.” Jason’s breath hitched as Slade rubbed his thumb across the wolf on his arm. “Peachy keen. Totally hunky-dory.”

“God, just shut up.” Slade pulled open Jason’s shirt the rest of the way, pushing him to lie back on the fold-out mattress as he covered his mouth in a kiss. Jason accepted it. He let Slade push and shift and maneuver his limbs around until he was spread out underneath him. It was a position he would have balked at submitting to before his entanglement with Slade, but every time the other man touched his soulmark, the fight instinct seemed to drain from him. The more he got used to the feel of Slade’s hands on him, the scent of his musk, the heated taste of his mouth and the salt of his skin, the more Jason realized he wanted this. He liked this. He wanted Slade to continue.

Jason reached up to tug at Slade’s shirt, pulling it open and off his shoulders so he could graze his fingers along the robin on the other man’s arm. The impression of heat was a welcome feeling, and Jason closed his eyes as the warmth spread through him. He felt Slade move down to trail kisses down his chest, licking and teasing at the nubs of his nipples, his breath like hot gusts against his skin as Slade's breathing quickened. The effect of their soulmarks had them both panting. Jason strained his hips upward, his hard-on starting to reach the point of discomfort, and Slade mirrored the movement, grinding himself down so their erections were pressed together.

"Nnnn…." Jason moaned at the contact, and in response Slade reached down to undo his fly and strip him of his jeans.

Slade knelt between his legs, running both his hands upward along the insides of his thighs, stopping just at the juncture of his crotch. "Very nice, Jason," his voice like a low purr as he began a trail of kisses upward.

"Yeah, nice. Downright generous." Jason squirmed, fighting the conflicting urges to both close his legs and open them further, moaning as Slade stroked his thumbs on either side of Jason's rim.

Slade just laughed before he was moving his mouth up to tongue at Jason's scrotum, rolling it into his mouth and sucking. Jason threw his head back into the mattress, bucking slightly as Slade probed his tongue at the base of Jason's cock before running his wet lips up the length of him. Then Slade was pulling back, reaching behind him to uncap a bottle of lube. He squeezed a generous amount into his hand, then he was moving to cover Jason's mouth with his own again as Slade probed at his entrance with his finger.

"Slade," Jason broke the kiss, putting his hands up on Slade's shoulders, not pushing, but not pulling him back down either. It was all Jason could do to catch his breath.

Slade paused, but only for a moment when he saw Jason wasn't going to continue.

"Just relax. Open up for me." And then Slade pushed a finger inside him.

Jason clenched around him, but Slade was persistent, and soon the invasion felt more like a welcoming, because Slade was rubbing and stroking that part of him that had him curling and mewling and writhing off the bed. Slade forced him back down with another kiss that was so bruising and full of teeth it was almost like a bite, and he was gripping Jason's arm with his other hand right over his soulmark. The finger inside him was joined by a second, stretching him to his limits as Slade drew the full intensity of arousal out of him—as much as Jason felt that his body could give.

Just as Jason felt he couldn't take anymore, with Slade stirring him into an endless mess of desperate begging, and with the nerves of his body lit like fire, the other man pulled back. He reared up to stare down at Jason, that irritating curl of a smirk plastered across his smug face.

"This is a good look on you," Slade withdrew the thrust of his fingers, moving instead to stroke his own maddeningly aroused cock, poised and already leaking cum.

"Fuck," Jason nearly sobbed at the loss of contact. "Oh fuck you, you bastard. Just fuck me. Fuck me!"

"Gladly," Slade was atop him again, pushing one of Jason's legs over his shoulder and positioning himself at Jason's entrance. The tip of his cock was pressing and pressing until Slade pushed past that first resistant ring of muscle.

Jason let out a low keen, his body adjusting to the girth. He panted, trying to slow his breathing as Slade nudged himself in even further. He pinned Jason's arms to his sides, covering the wolf mark again with his palm, and Jason was struck by that burning hot desire again. His skin tingled, the pit of his stomach tightened, his whole body shook like a jolt of electricity had run through it.

Slade slammed into him, fully sheathed and then pulling nearly all the way out, the bulge of his glans stretching and expanding at his rim before driving back in. Each rocking thrust of Slade's hips sparked a flood of sensation, an alternating peak and trough of exquisite pleasure and unbearable deprivation. Slade kept a steady rhythm even as the rise and fall of pleasure became an onslaught of ecstasy. There was an inexplicable fire growing in his belly, spreading down to a tightness at the base of his throbbing member, and then Jason was crying out, sobbing and shaking, his body reaching the last precipice of climax before going into freefall. His seed spurted over his belly as he felt something hot bloom inside him, and Slade was spasming and grunting, gripping Jason's arms and pinning them in a bruising hold until he was jerking his hips a final time.

Slade collapsed over Jason, still buried inside him as he brought their mouths together again in a sloppy kiss.

Jason closed his eyes, the lingering haze of orgasm still intoxicating, overwhelming his senses. Slade continued to hold him, rubbing gently at the wolf mark. The heat of desire was gone now from the karmic impressions, replaced by a whole other feeling that felt foreign—a strange feeling of contentment, a warmth in his chest and some deep feeling in his heart that he couldn't make sense of. It almost felt like an ache.

Jason wondered, as he felt himself drifting off to sleep, if this was what it felt like to feel loved.

__________________

He woke the next morning to the _thunk_ of something heavy. Jason opened his eyes to see Slade had dropped a large bag onto the table, which he immediately unzipped and began unpacking.

Curious, Jason rolled out of bed, clutching a blanket around him. He was still nude from their romp the night before, and the cold of dawn had goosebumps pimpling his skin. He padded over to the table in his bare feet and was surprised to see that Slade was laying out a familiar set of equipment. It was Jason's Red Hood gear.

"You had that here all this time?" Jason asked, more confused at Slade suddenly bringing it out than anything.

Slade turned to him. There was an indecipherable look on his face as he reached out a hand to cup Jason's cheek. "I shouldn't have kept you here so long. I made a call. My associate, Wintergreen, will be here in a few hours. He can take you anywhere you want to go."

Jason stared back at him, "you're kicking me out?"

"Of course not," Slade scowled, "but neither of us can stay here forever. I've got things to do, so I'm letting you go." He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Jason's lips. He touched their foreheads together, then parted.

Jason moved to the table to look over his gear. His discarded domino mask was there, and other than his missing helmet, he had everything he needed to return to his life as the Red Hood. However, something still felt incomplete. The idea of leaving here to go back to Gotham felt empty, like something was missing.

That something was Slade.

He reached out and caught Slade's arm, right over where his robin mark was hidden under his shirt, and instead of the usual heat, Jason felt more of that deep ache again. 

"Come with me," he said. "Come with me to Gotham. This isn't over for either of us. I know you feel it too."

Slade looked up at him, a wolfish grin spread across his face. "I was just waiting for you to ask."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this work please leave a comment or kudos!
> 
> And don't forget to visit [the art!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904347/chapters/49692689)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art with a (DCU)Bang](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904347) by [fleet_of_red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleet_of_red/pseuds/fleet_of_red)


End file.
